The Pianist and the Painter
by Ninja Potter
Summary: Music can't be written without inspiration. One-shot. For Becca! Molly/Lysander


**A/N So, this is for Becca (Aebbe), who wanted a fic in exchange for a country. I am now the proud ruler over Greece!**

**This is also dedicated to Becca, who gave me the pairing :) Hope you enjoy!**

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_Her fingers pluck the keys of her late grandmother's piano. It's her mother's inheritance and it sits in the sitting room._

_Nothing can comfort her like the feel of the worn ivories. This is her sanctuary._

His hands paint the things floating around in the corners of his mind. Usually, it's a cascading waterfall or the sharp mountains north of there.

The pictures are worth more than a thousand words. They are his world.

_One day, she'll write her own music like Bach or Mozart did. Only this time, she'll put a classic Molly spin on it._

_If only that day would hurry up. Then she would be free to just be Molly._

He's never done humans before. They change to much for any artist to capture perfectly.

So he sticks with landscape, maybe a couple portraits of animals. Lorcan tells him he needs some change but he's content with what he has.

_The only problem is, there's no inspiration in a place like Hogwarts. Everyone there struggles to fit in and be unoriginal._

_So her dream is put on hold. Maybe she should wish on a star._

He keeps to himself and his sketchbook, hoping no one will ask to see his drawings. They wouldn't appreciate them anyways.

They lack originality and creativity. Anyone can paint a field of flowers.

_She gets through Hogwarts, maintaining a grade average that would make her father proud. And now she's free._

_As an adult, she can roam the far corners of the earth. Maybe she'll find her inspiration._

His (and Lorcan's) seventeenth birthday passes and soon he's done with school. So he packs up his easel and clothes and heads off.

He makes it all the way to the Leaky Cauldron when he wants to stop. Why else would you go anyway when your muse is sitting in front of you?

_She's stuck at the Leaky Cauldron, her mind working up a storm. Where should (could?) she go?_

_France, Greece, Italy, they hold no purpose for her. But then the door bell jingles, and their eyes (stormy grey and clear blue) meet._

He knew her from school, though he's never talked to her. But how could he have missed such a girl?

He must have been blind to not to. But of course, his nose had been buried in a painting all through Hogwarts.

_It's like their own theme song is playing in her head. A sort of sad, yet hopeful melody laced with her favorite notes._

_But his voice is a symphony on it's own. That's the music she wants to hear everyday._

Her giggle is a sweet pink and her smile is a dazzling white. The poor lighting doesn't do justice to her chocolate brown waves.

The first thing he asks her is, "Can I paint you?". He expects her to say no.

_"Of course. But if only you talk to me while you paint." She loves the sound of his voice._

_He takes her back to his room and sets up the equipment. She sits on the couch, wondering how to pose._

She starts to hum as his fingers begin to guide the brush over the canvas. He doesn't recognize the song though it's very pretty.

He gets frustrated when he can't get the eye just right. She tells him to relax and try again.

_She's never seen someone so passionate about their work. His forehead creases as he works on the painting._

_She starts to formulate a song in her mind, a sort of lullaby. She hopes it will relax him._

When he's finished, he takes a pen and signs the bottom corner (_Lysander Scamander)._ He takes a step back to look at the painting.

She comes over and gazes over his shoulder. Her eyes perk up and the corners of her mouth twitch and then pull into a smile.

_"It's beautiful." she says. Too beautiful to be me, she thinks._

He says just the opposite. "I couldn't never do you justice."

_She now wants to write down the lullaby floating in her mind. He has a piece of her so it's only fair, right?_

He watches as she jots down the notes on a piece of paper. Her handwriting is curvy and neat.

_Suddenly, she's not looking at the music anymore._

She's in his arms and he's not letting go.

_Up close, she can see into his soul through those crystal clear bubble blue eyes._

He laces a hand through her waves and pulls her close.

_She's kissed plenty of boys (she _is_ a Weasley) but it's nothing like this._

He can't quite explain it.

_She only knows it's perfect..._

...he wouldn't be anywhere else...

_...than in his arms..._

...becuase she fits in them perfectly...

_...she can't help but love his painting..._

...he can't resist her humming...

_...because it brought them together..._

**And they never want to break this moment,**

**because where else would they be?**


End file.
